— 


REV.  DR.  HERRICK’S 


SERMON  AT  THE  FIFTY-SIXTH  ANNIVERSARY 

OF  THE 


AMERICAN  SEAMEN’S  FRIEND  SOCIETY. 


CHRIST  FOR  THE  SAILOR— THE  SAILOR  FOR  CHRIST; 


A DISCOURSE  BEFORE 


THE  AMERICAN  SEAMEN’S  FRIEND 

SOCIETY, 

AT  ITS 

FIFTY-SIXTH  ANNIVERSARY, 


SABBATH  EVENING,  p 1AY  4T H , 

OO 

OO 

RY 

Rev.  S.  E.  HERRICK,  D.  D., 

PASTOR  OF  MOUNT  VERNON  CHURCH,  BOSTON,  MASS., 

IN  THE  BROADWAY  TABERNACLE,  SIXTH  AVENUE  AND  34TH  STREET, 
NEW  YORK  CITY. 


FROM  T II E ROOMS  OF  THE  SOCIETY, 

80  WALL  STREET,  NEW  YORK, 

1884. 


■ 

* 


. 


SERMON. 


Mark  iii,  9. — “And  lie  spake  to  his  disciples,  that  a small  ship  should  wait  on 
him.” 

Aside  from  the  evident  convenience  which  would  be  secured  by  our 
Lord  for  the  purpose  of  teaching  the  thronging  multitudes  that  press- 
ed about  him  on  the  sea  shore,  there  is  a touch  of  propriety  in  the 
command,  which  I do  not  remember  to  have  seen  7ioticcd  by  any  of 
the  commentators  upon  this  passage.  In  the  verse  just  preceding  -we 
are  told  that  a great  multitude  came  to  him  from  the  region  about 
Tyre  and  Sidon.  And  it  was  for  the  purpose  of  teaching  these 
men  that  he  commanded  the  attendance  of  a small  ship.  Tyre  and 
Sidon,  the  two  great  cities  of  Phoenicia,  were  renowned  beyond  all 
others  of  the  ancient  world  for  their  maritime  commerce.  The  whole 
lives  of  these  men  were  associated  with  the  sea,  with  sailors  and  with 
ships.  Not  improbably  many  among  them  had  been  or  were  even 
then  men  of  the  sea.  Not  improbably  the  suggestion  was  present  to 
the  mind  of  the  Master  that  a bond  of  sympathy  and  kindly  feeling 
might  be  established  between  himself  and  them,  should  they  see  him 
speaking  from  a boat  as  his  pulpit.  They  would  take  the  truth  more 
kindly  at  his  lips  were  he  to  speak  to  them  as  a sailor  to  sailors. 
Then  as  now,  sailor’s  heart  warmed  to  sailor’s  heart.  The  men  of 
Tyre  and  Sidon  would  be  sure  to  give  respectful  hearing  to  the  man 
of  Galilee,  when  they  discovered  that  like  themselves  he  was  no 
stranger  to  the  pains  and  perils  of  the  seaman’s  life.  Even  as  the 
sailors  of  Boston  thirty  years  ago  loved  Father  Taylor,  or  as  their  suc- 
cessors, in  later  days,  believed  in  Peter  Larsen. 


— 4 — 


I am  jealous  of  those  petty  methods  of  interpretation  which  read 
large  meanings  into  the  most  trivial  incidents  of  the  Gospel  story, 
and  therefore  I notice  this  matter  simply  as  an  interesting  coincidence, 
without  putting  upon  it  any  special  emphasis.  But  I do  not  think  I 
shall  be  transgressing  the  limits  of  sober  exegesis  if  I seize  this  command 
of  our  Lord  that  a small  ship  or  boat  should  wait  upon  him,  that  he 
might  more  conveniently  pursue  his  evangelistic  labors,  and  deduce 
from  it  as  my  theme  for  this  occasion, — The  importance  of  making  the 
sea  ivith  its  forces,  moral  and  material,  auxiliary  to  the  extension  of  the 
kingdom  of  Christ. 

From  the  beginning  the  Gospel  has  sought  the  alliance  of  the  sea. 
Our  Lord’s  personal  labors  when  upon  earth  were  confined  to  a 
small  and  comparatively  insignificant  territory.  And  yet  in  those 
labors  the  sea  of  Galilee  with  its  shipping  and  its  sailors  played  no  un- 
important part.  Lying  as  it  did,  a fair  sheet  of  water  some  fourteen 
miles  long  and  half  as  many  broad,  in  the  very  heart  of  Palestine, 
without  its  boats  and  sailors  it  might  not  have  been  a serious  obstacle 
and  hindrance  to  his  work,  though  with  them  it  served  as  a most 
ready  and  helpful  medium  of  communication.  It  was  a little  sheet  of 
water,  to  be  sure,  and  its  ships  were  small  at  largest,  but  we  must  not 
allow  our  modern  ideas  to  do  injustice  to  the  Galilean  fishermen  and 
their  seamanship.  They  were  the  skilled  sailors  of  their  day.  The 
lake  was  not  contemptible,  its  storms  were  not  gentle  breezes,  its  dan- 
gers were  not  inconsiderable,  its  vessels  were  not  mean.  Josephus 
narrates  a sea  fight  which  took  place  on  the  lake,  conducted  on  the 
part  of  the  Romans  by  no  less  a commander  than  Vespasian  himself. 
Its  sailors,  rough,  hardy,  weather-beaten  men  like  our  own  mariners, 
were  the  Lord’s  generous  helpers  and  furnished  a large  proportion  of 
his  chosen  disciples.  When  a few  years  later  he  took  his  departure, 
the  disciples  to  whom  he  had  committed  the  continuance  of  his  work 
with  the  command,  “ Go  ye  into  all  the  world  and  preach  the  Gospel 
to  every  creature,”  found  a broader  sea  to  be  traversed,  lying,  as  its 
name  implied,  in  the  heart  of  the  world  as  it  was  known  to  them. 
The  little  lake  of  Tiberias  gives  place  now  to  the  Mediterranean. 
For  Capernaum  and  Bethsaida  and  Tiberias  and  Chorazin,  they  had 
now  Corinth  and  Alexandria  and  Thessalonica  and  Rome.  In  the 
broader  promulgation  of  the  Gospel  the  fishing-boats  of  Capernaum 
and  Bethsaida  must  give  place  to  the  corn-ships  of  Alexandria  and 
the  transports  of  Romo.  Gennesaret  was  girdled  by  Judaism.  The 
Mediterranean  introduced  its  navigators  to  the  nations  of  the  earth. 
To  and  fro  across  that  inland  sea  passed  the  great  apostle  to  the  Gen- 


— 5 — 


tiles  until  he  knew  all  its  ports,  was  familiar  with  its  prevailing  winds, 
could  read  its  signs  of  storm  and  calm,  until  he  was  as  expert  a mar- 
iner as  he  was  in  making  goat-skin  tents,  and  in  the  time  of  peril 
could  counsel  the  sailors  with  wisdom  better  than  their  own.  “ 1 hrice 
I suffered  shipwreck,”  lie  exclaimed, — “ a night  and  a day  I have  been 
in  the  deep.” 

For  centuries  the  Mediterranean  was  the  highway  of  Christianity, 
and  Mediterranean  sailors  shared  with  the  apostles  the  honor  of  spread- 
ing its  triumphs.  The  churches  were  few  that  were  formed  without 
their  aid.  The  large  ships  waited  upon  Christ  and  his  Gospel  as  the 
small  ones  had  done  upon  the  sea  of  Tiberias.  To  Gaul,  to  Spain,  to 
Africa  the  corn-ships  carried  along  with  the  bread  which  perisheth, 
the  bread  which  endureth  unto  everlasting  life.  And  even  to  Britain 
the  Roman  war-ships  along  with  the  legions  of  the  empire  carried  the 
soldiers  of  the  cross.  Then,  when  after  the  long  night  of  the  Middle 
Ages  had  passed  away,  and  the  revival  of  letters  was  followed  by  a 
reformation  of  religion,  and  discovery  had  unveiled  a new  world  to 
the  cupidity  of  commerce,  and  there  were  broader  seas  to  be  crossed 
and  greater  dangers  to  be  braved,  the  voice  of  the  man  of  Galilee  was 
again  heard  making  a corresponding  demand  that  a ship  should  wait 
upon  him.  And  then  came  along  with  the  gold  seekers  and  fortune 
hunters  the  pious  Catholics  exploring  our  inland  lakes  and  rivers,  the 
Dutchmen  of  the  New  Netherlands,  the  Pilgrims  of  Plymouth  and  the 
Puritans  of  Massachusetts  Bay,  the  Huguenots  of  Oxford  and  New 
Rochelle,  the  Scotch  and  North  Irelandersof  the  middle  colonies,  until 
out  of  the  varied  elements  the  genius  of  Christianity  built  up  a Chris- 
tian nation,  and  another  grand  step  was  taken  in  the  conquest  of  the 
world  to  Jesus  Christ.  Again  history  expanded  her  horizon,  the 
globe  was  circumnavigated,  and  the  vast  insular  world  of  Australasia 
was  opened  up  to  commerce  and  to  religion  by  the  courage  and  enter- 
prise of  European  sailors, — a wilderness  of  utter  darkness  and  degrad- 
ation when  discovered, — but  thanks  under  God  to  sailors’  fortitude 
wedded  to  Christian  zeal,  sparkling  on  the  bosom  of  the  Pacific,  to- 
day, like  a baldric  of  island  gems  glowing  with  the  radiance  of  heaven. 

The  lines  of  Tiberias  have  swept  on  and  out  until  the  little  inland 
lake  seems  to  have  taken  in  the  Mediterranean,  the  Atlantic,  the  Pa- 
cific. Capernaum  and  Bethsaida  have  taken  to  themselves  Alexan- 
dria, Rome,  London,  New  York,  San  Francisco,  Honolulu,  Queens- 
town. But  once  more  that  mighty  voice  is  heard  calling  for  a ship 
to  aid  Him  in  His  work,  and  now,  where  the  farthest  east  and  the  re- 
motest west  meet  on  the  shore  of  the  Pacific, — in  Yeddo  and  Yokohama, 


— 6 — 


in  Pekin  and  Canton,  the  sailor,  obedient  to  the  call,  has  at  last  girdled 
the  world  with  the  story  of  the  cross. 

I have  no  doubt  that  in  “ Simon  Peter  and  Andrew  his  brother,  and 
James  the  son  of  Zebedee  and  John  his  brother,”  our  Lord  discerned 
peculiar  features  of  character  which  adapted  them  to  the  work  of 
Apostlesliip.  But  does  not  the  history  of  Christianity  and  its  progress 
for  eighteen  hundred  years,  in  the  light  which  it  reflects  upon  His 
choice  of  these  men,  make  it  abundantly  evident  that  He  contemplated 
at  the  outset  the  perpetual  alliance  of  the  sea  and  its  forces  with  the 
work  of  His  Kingdom?  How  absolutely  indispensable  has  the  sailor 
been  at  every  point  of  new  departure!  What  a debt  do  we  owe  him! 
What  a debt  does  all  the  world  owe  him!  Without  the  intervention  of 
his  self-sacrificing  service  the  Gospel  itself  must  have  been  confined  to 
the  narrow  region  of  its  first  publication,  or  at  best  to  those  adjacent 
territories  which  might  have  been  reached  by  the  Apostles’  footsteps. 

But  large  as  has  been  the  sailor’s  service  to  the  Gospel,  it  might 
have  been  and  ought  to  have  been  far  greater.  He  has  carried  the 
apostle,  the  missionary,  the  church  to  their  advancing  conepaests. 
He  ought  himself  to  be  the  apostle,  the  missionary,  the  church.  In- 
deed our  Savior  seems  to  have  contemplated  not  merely  alliance,  but 
identity.  He  made  sailors  themselves  to  be  His  first  Apostles.  In 
the  beginning  the  sailor  and  the  Apostle  were  one.  Hid  not  our 
Lord  not  only  anticipate  this, — that  the  continents  are  to  be  saved  by 
the  way  of  the  sea, — when  He  made  sailors  the  first  evangelists,  but 
did  lie  not  mean  to  teach  His  church  this  lesson  for  all  time,  that  this 
important  class  of  men  must  first  be  saved  and  utilized  if  she  would 
most  speedily  and  effectively  save  the  world?  Let  the  church  learn 
tliis  lesson,  the  very  first  that  her  Master  taught,  and  not  the  least 
important.  Let  her  go  to  the  ships  to  find  her  missionaries,  as  11c  did. 

For  a missionary  the  sailor  is,  by  virtue  of  his  very  calling, — an  apostle 
of  some  sort,  with  a roving  commission.  Sailors  are  the  common 
carriers,  not  of  one  world  only,  but  of  three  worlds.  Three  millions 
there  are  of  this  apostolic  class  of  men.  What  a mighty  force 
if  it  were  but  inspired  with  loyalty  to  one  common  purpose!  Moving 
over  every  sea,  touching  every  shore,  striking  with  some  sort  of 
moral  impact,  as  ceaseless  as  that  of  the  tides  of  ocean  itself,  the  life 
of  every  land  beneatli  the  sun. 

Indeed  the  analogy  is  a close  one  between  this  ever  recurring  moral 
influence  and  the  hygienic  value  of  the  ocean  tides.  Think  for  a 
moment  of  that  movement,  grand,  silent,  mysterious,  by  which  twice 
every  twenty-four  hours,  now  while  we  wake  and  now  again  while  we 


— 7 — 


sleep,  the  unresting  sen  heaves  its  mighty  tide  upon  our  shores.  That 
rising  flood  by  its  silent  but  resistless  influx  fills  our  docks,  creeps  up 
our  creeks,  sweeps  up  all  our  river-mouths,  insinuates  itself  into  all 
the  tortuous  windings  of  our  shore-line,  floods  our  marshes,  covers  our 
unsightly  flats,  bringing  healthful  purity,  literally  “ the  salt  of  the 
earth  ” with  every  visitation,  and  in  exchange  bearing  away  our  pollu- 
tion with  every  retirement.  The  tides  are  thus  doing  for  us  incessant- 
ly what  the  heaving  lungs  do  for  the  heart’s  blood.  Without  this 
ceaseless  ebb  and  flow  every  continent  of  earth,  every  island  of  the  sea 
would  be  girdled  or  fringed  with  corruption  and  death. 

But  the  ocean  has  other  tides  than  these, — tides  as  ceaseless,  as  in- 
visible. Would  that  they  were  as  pure  and  wholesome!  The  rising  of 
the  waters  to-day  is  not  more  certain  than  that  a fresh  wave  of  human 
life  will  come  in  upon  us,  bringing,  probably,  not  purity  but  death. 
Some  portion  of  these  three  millions  of  sailor-lives  is  now  sweeping 
silently  into  our  harbors.  It  will  wind  through  our  border  streets. 
It  will  settle  into  every  slum  and  fill  every  purlieu  of  darkness  and  of 
vice.  It  will  leave  the  seeds  of  disease.  It  will  dissolve  the  founda- 
tions of  virtue.  It  will  strike  more  deeply  the  stains  of  shame  and 
dishonor.  It  will  imbrute  sensibility  and  petrify  conscience.  And 
tfiNfall  of  the  tide  to-night  is  not  more  certain  than  that  this  wave  in 
its  mission  will  take  with  it  a charge  of  poison  as  deadly  as  it  brought, 
not  to  mse  it  in  the  deep  sea  but  to  bear  it  to  other  shores,  there  amid 
other  scenes  to  still  “ work  out  all  uncleanness  with  greediness.”  And 
this  ebb  and  flow  is  going  on  ceaselessly.  Two  thousand  men,  more  or 
less,  here  in  Xew  York  to-day,  as  many  more  to-morrow,  some  going, 
others  coming,  not  all  impure,  not  all  bad;  many  of  them,  thank  God, 
pure,  honorable,  good,  life-givers  wherever  they  go;  but  all  out  upon 
a mission,  all  apostolic,  every  one  morally  dynamic  beyond  human 
estimate  or  conception. 

Xow,  because  the  sailor  is  such  a moral  dynamic,  he  ought  to  be 
secured  to  the  Kingdom  of  Christ.  Suppose  every  sailor’s  heart  were 
charged  with  the  grace  of  God,  and  every  sailor’s  life  were  true  and 
loyal  to  Jesus  Christ.  Suppose  this  incessant  tide  which  rolls  upon 
every  shore  were  saturated  with  the  purifying  salt  of  Christian  love, 
every  ship  a “ Morning  Star,”  the  combined  fleets  of  the  nations  the 
navy  of  the  Kingdom  of  God,  with  Jesus  Christ  for  Lord  High  Ad- 
miral. The  sailor’s  life  speaks  in  every  language  if  his  lips  do  not. 
Christian  virtues,  like  Pagan  vices,  do  not  have  to  be  translated  in 
order  to  be  understood  as  they  pass  from  land  to  land.  The  beauty 
of  the  Lord  appeals  to  every  eye  and  impresses  all  the  sons  of  men. 


— 8 — 


Suppose  that  every  Christian  land  should  make  it  its  first  endeavor  to 
renovate  and  Christianize  its  own  mercantile  marine,  what  an  immense 
Foreign  Missionary  work  would  be  immediately  and  effectively  accom- 
plished! The  commerce  of  the  United  States  alone  employs  half  a 
million  sailors,  one-sixth  of  the  whole  sailorhood  of  the  globe.  Why 
should  not  the  Christians  of  the  United  States  see  to  it  that  these 
men  are  evangelized  and  so  do  a great  stroke  of  both  Home  and  Foreign 
Mission  work  at  once? 

“ Can  it  be  done?  ” do  you  ask?  This  Society  whose  anniversary 
we  are  celebrating  to-night  is  doing  that  very  thing  as  rapidly  as  the 
Christians  of  America  supply  the  means.  It  is  leavening, — if  you  will 
allow  me  to  use  the  word,  Christ-ening, — the  forces  of  the  sea.  It  was 
content  in  former  years  with  meeting  the  sailor  as  he  set  his  foot 
upon  the  dock,  giving  him  a Christian  welcome,  shielding  him  from 
the  sharks  and  harpies  of  the  shore,  conducting  him  to  clean  and 
comfortable  quarters,  providing  for  his  physical  and  spiritual  necessi- 
ties for  the  brief  period  of  his  life  on  land,  and  then  bidding  him  God- 
speed in  his  new  departure.  And  this  was  much.  But  it  has  learned 
the  art,  of  late,  of  going  to  sea  with  him,  of  accompanying  him  with  its 
counsels  and  its  comforts  into  every  latitude,  of  speaking  its  friendly 
words  to  him  when  half  the  world  away  from  home  and  church,  in  the 
loneliness  of  the  watch,  in  the  peril  of  the  storm.  In  a word  it  is 
sending  to-day  400,000  chaplains  in  more  than  8,000  vessels  goingand 
coming  between  the  sea-ports  of  all  countries.  These  chaplains  speak 
to  the  German,  the  Dane,  the  Frenchman,  the  Spaniard,  the  Italian, 
as  well  as  to  the  English  and  American  sailor,  and  to  each  in  his  own 
tongue  wherein  he  was  born.  They  consume  none  of  the  ship’s  sup- 
plies. They  take  on  no  airs  of  superiority.  They  are  promoters  of 
peace.  They  dispel  ennui.  They  awaken  the  best  feelings  and  affec- 
tions of  the  men.  They  know  how  to  be  familiar  without  being  ob- 
trusive. They  stand  on  terms  of  equal  intimacy  and  confidence  with 
captain,  crew,  and  cabin-boy.  They  inevitably  soften  and  humanize; — 
more,  they  Christianize.  It  has  been  my  good  fortune  to  fall  in  with 
many  of  these  silent,  but  mighty  chaplains,  after  long  voyages,  and  I 
have  reverenced  them.  As  they  have  often  come  into  port  in  well- 
worn  and  sometimes  tattered  uniform,  weather-beaten,  water-stained, 
honorably  scarred,  fragrant  of  oakum  and  tar,  still  more  have  I rever- 
enced them.  They  have  uttered  no  boastful  words  of  their  doings 
and  their  dangers  as  I have  grasped  them  by  the  hands,  but  they  have 
been  eloquent  to  the  eye,  of  noble  duty  done,  of  Christly  service  per- 
formed, whose  only  record  was  treasured  up  in  sailors’  hearts  and  in 


— 9 — 


the  book  of  God’s  remembrance.  These  400,000  chaplains  arc  doing 
a mighty  work  at  an  insignificant  outlay.  They  are  changing  the 
quality  of  the  moral  forces  of  the  sea.  They  are  renovating  and 
cleansing  those  perpetual  tides.  The  Sailor’s  Library  was  a heaven- 
born  thought.  Multiply  these  chaplains  a hundred  fold  and  the 
promise  will  speedily  bo  fulfilled, — “The  abundance  of  the  sea  shall 
be  converted  unto  Thee.” 

Another  consideration  which  forces  upon  us  the  importance  of  mak- 
ing the  sailor  auxiliary  to  the  extension  of  the  Kingdom  of  Christ  is 
to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  sailors  as  a class  are  peculiarly  adapted 
to  be  the  Apostles  of  Christianity.  They  are  so  adapted  by  the  nature 
of  their  calling  as  well  as  by  virtue  of  their  opportunities.  The  sailor 
is  brought  face  to  face  with  God  as  other  men  arc  not.  No  narrow 
horizon  shuts  down  upon  his  vision.  No  petty,  noisy  activities,  no 
turmoil  of  the  town,  no  murmur  of  the  street  shatters  the  profound 
and  protracted  silence  in  which  his  life  is  passed.  The  utter  loneli- 
ness of  day  after  day,  and  the  watches  of  the  night  lighted  only  by 
the  silent  stars  are  transfused  with  the  felt  presence  of  the  Deity.  On 
the  deep  as  nowhere  else,  “day  unto  day  uttcreth  speech  and  night 
unto  night  sheweth  knowledge.”  No  speech,  no  language,  yet  all 
eloquent  of  the  mysterious,  ineffable  presence,  which  made  the 
Psalmist  to  cry  out,  “ The  sea  is  His,  and  He  made  it.”  “ If  I take 
the  wings  of  the  morning  and  dwell  in  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  sea, 
even  there  shall  Thy  hand  lead  me  and  Thy  right  hand  shall  hold 
me.”  The  sailor  feels  this,  though  he  could  not,  it  may  be,  express 
it.  Among  no  other  class  of  men  is  the  religious  feeling  so  strongly 
developed.  Accordingly,  if  a wicked  man  he  is  proverbially  super- 
stitious, if  a good  one  he  is  proverbially  devout.  Sailors  as  a class 
believe  in  God.  They  can  not  otherwise  without  doing  violence  to 
their  sensibilities.  It  is  difficult  to  make  them  atheists,  unless  you 
can  keep  them  on  shore  long  enough  to  make  them  forget  the  sea. 
They  know  the  thunder  of  His  power.  They  have  seen  the  terrors  of 
the  Lord.  They  have  heard  His  footsteps  who  “ walketh  upon  the 
wings  of  the  wind.”  They  are  correspondingly  accessible  to  the  mes- 
sage of  His  love  and  grace  in  Jesus  Christ.  It  is  a portion  of  my 
pride  of  which  nothing  but  death  will  ever  divest  me  that  I am  the 
son  of  a sailor,  and  that  among  sailors  my  happy  boyhood  was  passed. 
I know  them,  I have  preached  to  them.  There  are  no  other  such 
audiences.  They  have  been  subdued  by  the  majesty  of  nature.  They 
are  reverential,  submissive,  cliild-like.  They  need  and  want  no 
dialectics,  no  clatter  of  logic,  nor  pomp  of  rhetoric.  The  simple 


— 10 


story,  told  straight  out  from  the  heart,  of  Him  who  shared  with  the 
sailors  in  the  toil,  and  the  tempest,  and  then  gave  His  life  for  their 
salvation,  takes  them  captive,  and  they  make  as  noble  disciples  now 
as  they  did  at  the  beginning.  Convert  a sailor  in  Boston  or  New 
York,  or  on  board  his  ship,  and  he  is  a Christian  the  world  over. 

I have  spoken  of  the  debt  which  the  Christian  world  owes  to  the 
sailor  for  its  very  Christianity.  God’s  unspeakable  gift  has  come  to 
every  race  upon  the  globe  by  the  hands  of  the  men  of  the  sea.  But 
there  is  an  ever  accruing  indebtedness,  which  we  owe  to  them  for  our 
civilization  apart  from  our  Christianity.  What  human  ministry  to 
our  daily  wants  is  so  wide-spread  and  so  minute  as  theirs!  What  a 
barren  life  would  ours  be  without  that  ministry!  The  furnishings  of 
our  homes,  the  provision  of  our  boards  would  fall  back  into  primitive 
rudeness  and  meagerness  but  for  their  perpetual  assistance.  Every 
cup  of  coffee  has  been  set  upon  your  breakfast  table,  and  again  every 
cup  of  tea  at  night,  at  the  risk  of  a score  of  sailors’  lives.  The 
very  commodities  which  the  pioneer  of  the  prairies  counts  among  the 
necessities  of  his  existence,  as  well  as  the  luxuries  which  garnish  the 
life  of  the  city  and  the  town,  arc  the  fruits  of  his  daring  and  fidelity 
in  our  behalf. 

The  wide  range  of  foreign  merchandize  which  any  country  gathers 
into  its  marts  of  trade  and  distributes  again  among  its  citizens  is  the 
evidence  and  the  measure  of  its  civilization.  At  the  same  time  it  is 
evidence  and  measure  of  something  more  that  we  do  not  often  think 
of.  It  is  the  exponent  of  great  dangers  braved.  It  is  the  evidence 
often  of  great  suffering  cheerfully  borne  and  mcagerly  recompensed. 
It  is  the  measure  of  high  hardihood  and  courage  on  the  part  of  the 
ten  thousand  toilers  of  the  deep.  From  the  time  when  the  ships  of 
Tyre  brought  silver,  and  gold,  and  ivory,  and  apes,  and  peacocks  to 
the  court  of  Solomon,  to  the  last  merchantman  that  brought  her 
nargo  of  spices  into  the  harbor  of  San  Francisco  or  New  York,  sailors 
have  toiled  at  the  ropes,  by  day,  and  trod  the  deck  in  nightly  watch, 
and  encountered  windy  storm  and  tempest,  to  procure  what  would 
minister  to  the  landsman’s  comfort,  or  gratify  his  taste.  Like  Virgil’s 
bees  they  are  gatherers  of  honey,  but  not  for  themselves.  You  would 
not  know  your  own  home  to  night,  if  you  were  to  go  back  to  it  from 
this  place  to  find  it  stripped  only  of  what  sailor’s  toil  had  brought. 
You  have  not  paid  for  these  things  when  you  have  simply  given  their 
monetary  value  in  exchange  for  them.  A large  part  of  the  debt  still 
remains  uncancelled.  You  owe  a debt  of  sentiment,  of  feeling,  of 
gratitude.  Commerce  may  recognize  no  such  obligation,  but  equity 


— 11  — 


docs.  Selfishness  may  refuse  to  discharge  it,  but  generosity  and 
Christianity  cannot. 

And  apart  from  this  actual  and  ever  accruing  indebtedness  I re- 
member that  we  have  been  and  may  be  again  dependent  upon  these 
men  for  a more  momentous  and  urgent  service.  While  I have  been 
preparing  this  discourse,  and,  indeed,  almost  daily  for  many  years,  I 
have  had  occasion  to  pass  and  re-pass  a noble  monument  on  Boston 
Common,  at  whose  foot  there  stand  the  cfligies  of  the  American 
soldier  and  the  American  sailor,  who  joined  hands  a score  of  years 
ago  at  the  call  of  patriotism  for  the  salvation  of  our  Country  in  her 
time  of  peril.  I remember  that  when  that  fearful  war  broke  out  our 
lean  and  impoverished  navy  could  muster  but  about  8,000  men. 
During  the  war  that  number  was  swelled  to  75,000.  And  whence 
came  that  extra  07,000?  Largely  from  our  mercantile  marine, — our 
common  sailors.  Hatteras,  Port  Royal  and  Hampton  Roads,  Don- 
elson,  Island  No.  Ten,  Memphis,  Vicksburg,  Mobile,  New  Orleans, 
bear  witness  to  the  bravery  and  devotion  of  our  common  sailors,  who 
were  found  as  ready  to  hazard  their  lives  for  our  safety  in  war  as  they 
ever  had  been  for  our  comfort  in  peace.  Nor  under  like  conditions 
would  they  be  found  wanting  now.  Common  sailors,  indeed!  We  owe 
them  no  common  debt.  We  owe  them  what  money  never  measured, 
— we  owe  them  the  Gospel  of  Jesus  Christ. 

Two-fold,  then,  is  the  necessity  which  confronts  us.  The  sailor 
needs  the  Gospel,  the  Gospel  needs  the  sailor.  I plead  with  you  for 
each  that  you  will  give  to  it  the  other.  On  the  one  side  I see  these 
3,000,000  of  our  brethren,  with  no  homes  but  their  hammocks,  with 
no  Sabbath-rest  breaking  for  them  the  monotony  of  the  year,  with  no 
cessation  of  care,  and  no  domestic  retreat,  and  no  unbroken  repose 
when  night  stops  the  plow,  the  shuttle,  and  the  hammer  upon  the 
land, — with  no  church-fellowship  and  no  place  of  social  prayer, — 
their  lives  passing  away  like  their  own  swift  ships,  before  the  blasts  of 
exposure,  hungering  for  a Heavenly  Presence  in  the  ship  as  once  the 
timid  sailors  hungered  for  their  Lord  on  Galilee, — and  on  the  other,  I 
see  their  Lord  and  ours  making  the  same  demand  now,  as  of  old, 
upon  His  disciples  in  His  longing  to  reach  the  world, — that  the  “ship 
should  wait  upon  Him.” 

Let  ms  obey,  my  brethren,  and  give  the  Gospel  to  the  sailor,  that  the 
sailor  may  be  given  to  the  Gospel,  and  Christ  may  “see  of  the  travail 
of  His  soul  and  be  satisfied!  ” 


